


Feeling Young and Reckless (FCW Jack Brisco 15 Championship)

by SapphoIsBurning



Category: World Wrestling Entertainment
Genre: FCW - Freeform, First Time, M/M, Regret, Sex in a Car, WWE Extreme Rules
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-04
Updated: 2018-08-04
Packaged: 2019-06-21 21:38:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,127
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15566868
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SapphoIsBurning/pseuds/SapphoIsBurning
Summary: Seth’s match, and then loss, at Extreme Rules reminds him of other iron man matches he has been in, and what happened after.





	Feeling Young and Reckless (FCW Jack Brisco 15 Championship)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Hyacinthus](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hyacinthus/gifts).



The medal was so small. Seth remembered holding it in the palm of his hand, it feeling clammy in the Florida heat, in the funk of the old warehouse. Even in the rinky dink promotions he had come up through before agreeing to sign to FCW, he had fought for bigger titles. Physically, bigger. Actual...belts.  
  
But it had come to mean a lot, even if Dusty had gotten a rush engraving job from a guy at the Trophy Hut down on MLK.  
  
Seth wished he still had it, to hold it one last time. He wondered if they had let Brad keep it after all. He finished tying his boot laces and switched to the other foot, pulling it on and tightening each lace, grommets by grommet.  
  
Dean would probably know.  
  
Dean wasn’t here.  
  
***  
  
It was after the 30-minute iron man match, the end of the series, that things changed between them. It had been tense and exciting, in a way Seth hadn’t felt in a long time, like pressure building up inside a volcano.  
  
He remembered not knowing whether to seek out Dean or avoid him in the locker room afterward.  
  
Turns out he wasn’t even there. Dumbass had stormed out straight into a summer thunderstorm and was trying to smoke a cigarette behind the big dumpster they shared with the shipping warehouse next door.

“Dean?” Seth said, pulling his sweatshirt tight around him.  
  
“What,” Dean snapped. He flicked his lighter with a shaky hand, the flame going out before he could lower the cigarette dangling from his lips.  
  
“You’re not gonna get very far that way,” Seth said.  
  
“There’s an awning,” Dean said, teeth pressed together.  
  
“Dude, come on.” Seth inclined his head toward the parking lot. They walked out. Seth got his keys out and unlocked his scratched gray Toyota Corolla and they both got in.  
  
“You’re not supposed to be smoking,” Seth said.  
  
“You gonna tell Dusty?” Dean said.  
  
“Only if you don’t roll the window down. At least a crack.” Seth started the car and turned on the air conditioning. Some fucking old Fall Out Boy CD in the car stereo spun up at top volume and Seth reached to turn it down, slapping at the volume control.  
  
“What the hell is that?” Dean asked, flicking away his cigarette, too damp to light now, and getting the hard pack out of the inside pocket of his jacket.  
  
“From Under the Cork Tree,” Seth said, frowning. “I can turn it off.”  
  
“Nah.” He lit his new smoke and it took, and he took a big drag. “Is this what you listen to?” Smoke drifted from his lips as he spoke.  
  
“Sometimes.” It was then that Seth realized he didn’t know what he was doing or where he was going. “Roll the window down.”  
  
Dean blew a smoke ring. “In a minute.”  
  
Seth started rolling the passenger window down from the driver’s side controls. Dean jumped and pulled his right arm away from the window. “Easy!”  
  
“I’m doing you a fucking favor, okay?” Seth said.  
  
“Right, like you do me so many goddamn favors,” Dean sneered.  
  
Seth put the car in reverse and backed out of the spot. They drove away from the warehouse aimlessly, smoke curling from Dean’s nostrils and Seth not knowing quite what to say. I’m glad you’re here? Are you mad? Are you glad? DO YOU LIKE ME CIRCLE YES/NO? Seth bit his lip.

After a time, Dean broke their silence.

“This guy can sing okay, I guess. What’s this song called.”  
  
“I’ve Got a Dark Alley and a Bad Idea That Says You Should Shut Your Mouth.”  
  
“I don’t know if I’m scared or aroused by that,” Dean drawled.  
  
“Parentheses Summer Song,” Seth finished. “Um, what?”  
  
“Pull over.” Dean took a final drag off the cigarette then flicked it out the crack of the window into the driving rain. “Who needs a dark alley when you got a bad idea?”  
  
“Oh,” Seth said. He turned down an industrial side street, empty this time of night. His hand was a little shaky on the shifter knob as he parked the car. “Oh.”  
  
“Seth.” Dean shook his head. “You are something else. I don’t know whether to kiss you or kill you.”  
  
Seth’s heart was racing. “Why not both? Wait, no. What am I saying? Please don’t kill—“  
  
Dean cut him off, pushing into his space, grabbing him by the strings of his hoodie and pulling him close. The kiss tasted like a Marlboro menthol and blotted out all other sensations. He put his hands up, grabbing Dean’s soaking wet denim jacket by the lapels and hanging on.  
  
It was hard not to giggle about making out to Fall Out Boy in a car he’d been driving since he was a normal age to fucking make out to Fall Out Boy in a car. Dean ran his hands up Seth’s chest and cradled his head. They kissed and gulped for air, the tension between them breaking over the car like a wave.  
  
Dean moved too fast and hit his head on the car’s roof. “Ow, fuck.”  
  
“Here,” Seth said, guiding Dean’s head down. With his other hand he reclined the driver’s seat until it tilted all the way back with a muffled thud.  
  
Dean climbed over the center console and straddled Seth. “How’s this.”  
  
“Fine. What are we doing?” Seth asked.  
  
“Oh, didn’t you read your contract?” Dean asked. “This is part of my rematch clause.” He lowered himself and ground against Seth’s hip. “How do you like that?”  
  
“Fuck, oh god,” Seth swore. “Oh my god, Dean.”  
  
“Yeah, I knew you would like it. Why do you think I keep getting into these damn iron man matches with you? I gotta see how long you can go.” He unbuttoned the fly of Seth’s cargo pants, feeling him up as he went.  
  
“Is this why you hit me so hard?” Seth groaned, grabbing onto the door handle to ground himself.  
  
“Yeah,” Dean breathed. He slid Seth’s underwear down, and his erection sprung free. “Also you look really hot when you’re fucking suffering.” He gave him a couple of experimental strokes and Seth arched his back like a saint being tortured.  
  
“Don’t stop,” Seth panted.  
  
“Oh, in that case,” Dean said. He pulled his hand away, attending to his own bulge, rubbing himself with the palm of his hand through his pants.  
“Maybe I’ll let you sweat.”

  
***  
  
An iron man match made you really aware of the ring. Not “ring awareness” so much as having all that time with it reminds you that it’s almost a person, almost the third person in this dance between you and your esteemed or despicable opponent. The ring would almost always hold you up when you fell down. Almost always. (Seth was pretty sure since Kane had already had a match tonight he wasn’t going to come up through the ring again, but you could never really count that out.)  
  
The canvas holds you. The canvas burns you. The ropes embrace you and save you and fail you.  
  
Maybe he was just a little oxygen deprived from the last submission he had been in. Ziggler was putting up a real fight, that bastard. And then when MacIntyre came in out of nowhere...  
  
That wasn’t how it was supposed to go. It was all wrong without anyone on his side.  
  
***  
  
“You’re not really going to leave me hanging, come on!” Seth said, practically tearing at his own hair.  
  
“I dunno,” Dean said, stroking himself lazily. “This feels pretty good. Don’t touch yourself, you’re prettier with your hands up.”  
  
“You think I’m pretty?” Seth said, a little squeaky.  
  
“Yeah,” Dean sighed. He leaned forward, bracing himself against Seth’s chest with one hand. Their cocks were nearly touching but not quite. “Flutter those long eyelashes at me again, baby.”  
  
Seth was sure he was blushing. He felt so exposed.

“What if someone sees us!”  
  
“Ooh, wouldn’t that be something,” Dean said. He held out his hand to Seth, palm up. “Help me out.”  
  
Seth pushed himself up a little and worked up some saliva. He licked a stripe up Dean’s palm, warm and wet against Dean’s calloused hands. Dean shivered.  
  
“Oh baby,” he said, taking the two of them in hand now, jerking them both off together. “Rollins, you don’t know what you do to me.”  
  
Seth spread his legs as much as he could, tucking left foot behind Dean’s ankle. “Tell me.”  
  
“I’d let every match go to a draw if it meant I could touch you again,” Dean said. “Get you to look at me that way, nobody ever looked at me in the ring like they wanted me before, not like that.” His strokes sped up now. “I didn’t know how you felt. If you wanted it too.”  
  
“You couldn’t...ah...oh, fuck, Dean.”  
  
“Shh, you don’t have to talk. I got enough hot air for both of us.”  To wit, the windows were fogged up, the car getting hot with their breath and spit and hot bodies.  
  
The music was still playing in the background. Something throbbing and tinny, with a lot of words. Seth was floating on a sea of words.  
  
“Come with me, baby,” Dean said. “I got you.”  
  
Seth pressed his eyes closed and let himself fall over the edge, and Dean was right there. They fell together.  
  
*** 

It wasn’t supposed to end this way.

Seth felt like he got hit by a truck, sitting alone in the ring, holding his head in his hands as Ziggler walked off with the title, along with that fucking piece of shit Highlander looking bastard who was following him around.

Seth felt shame wash over him. He didn’t deserve a partner, he thought. He was unforgivable. Then he felt guilty for even thinking that, when God only knew when Dean would be back in the ring after his surgery, or where he even was right now. But if Dean hadn’t forgiven Seth, would he even be hurt right now?

Deep breaths. Nothing to be gained from dwelling on the past. Get up, shower, get back on the road, go to work tomorrow. As soon as he could stand. One foot, then the other. Get to your feet. Don’t fall.

Seth never really stopped feeling like he was falling when he thought about Dean.

He got to his hotel room late. Someone had already checked into it, and left a note at the desk in familiar handwriting.

Seth rode the elevator up to the sixth floor, heart racing.

Of course Dean answered the door, of course.

“What are you doing here?” Seth asked, his voice soft and concerned. He ran his hands over Dean’s upper arms, touching lightly.  
  
“Hiding.”  
  
Seth narrowed his eyebrows. “Hiding.”  
  
“I come out there, I come backstage, everybody wants to talk to me. Everybody wants to ask a lot of questions. I don’t have any fucking answers for them. Might as well skip the line.”  
  
“How did you get in?”  
  
“Pretended to be you on the phone. Had them make me a key. I’m very persuasive.” Dean shrugged and turned away, rummaging through his suitcase, propped up on a chair.  
  
“You carny bastard, where the hell have you even been?” Seth said, but he also laughed and pulled his jacket off, stepping out of his sneakers, the toe of one foot holding down the heel of the other.  
  
“I got something for ya,” Dean said.

“Oh really.” 

“Yeah. Took me a long time to get it, too.” He reached into a battered backpack and pulled out something wrapped in layers of paper towels. “Didn’t want to scratch it up too much on the plane.”

Seth took the bundle and unwrapped it, layer by layer. It wasn’t very big. It was small, and engraved, and on a rinky dink little ribbon, and at one point, it was his.

“Holy shit.”

“Brad says hello, by the way.”

“He still had it?”

“Nah, but he helped me track it down.”

Dean stepped closer. “I wanted it to be a congratulations present, but I guess it’s a runner up prize for now.” 

“Yeah, but you’re here. You’re *here*, Dean, I missed you so fucking much, just…”

Dean took the medal out of Seth’s hands and threaded his fingers through the ribbon. He lifted it over Seth’s head and dropped it around his neck.

“What’ll it be, champ?”

“Jesus, Dean,” Seth said.

“I’m not in fighting shape yet,” Dean said, looking down, “But other activities are...not contraindicated. Uh, according to my physical therapist.” 

“Oh,” Seth said, raising his eyebrows. “Well, then.” He grabbed a fistful of Dean’s shirt and reeled him in for a long, pleading kiss. “We’ll just have to take it slow.”


End file.
